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Let's Play Fallout 2: Can't escape anything in this town

War. War never changes.
The end of the world occurred pretty much as we had predicted. Too many humans, not enough space or resources to go around. The details are trivial and pointless, the reasons, as always, purely human ones.

The earth was nearly wiped clean of life. A great cleansing, an atomic spark struck by human hands, quickly raged out of control. Spears of nuclear fire rained from the skies. Continents were swallowed in flames and fell beneath the boiling oceans. Humanity was almost extinguished, their spirits becoming part of the background radiation that blanketed the earth.

A quiet darkness fell across the planet, lasting many years. Few survived the devastation. Some had been fortunate enough to reach safety, taking shelter in great underground vaults. When the great darkness passed, these vaults opened, and their inhabitants emerged to begin their lives again.

One of the northern tribes claims they are descended from one such Vault. They hold that their founder and ancestor, one known as the "Vault Dweller," once saved the world from a great evil. It is all they know.

Abandoning the world, the small village of Arroyo has lived in peace and security for decades. The rise and fall of empires, wasteland becoming cities, it all passed the village by, the elder holding on to their secure isolation and tribal lifestyle in hopes of peace.

But escaping the terrors of the wasteland is never that easy. Arroyo's days of peace and prosperity are about to end. And war...

Fallout 2, the sequel to the much beloved first Fallout, is famous for its depth of options, huge world, and, somewhat less fortunately, its lack of commitment to a central narrative.

Fallout 1 was about saving your small community and eventually the world. Most of the locations played into the themes.

Fallout 2, once you leave your crappy, crappy peasant village, is about wandering California and causing all kinds of messes. Joining the mob, starting and stopping any number of small wars, prizefighting, starring in porn, all that and more? On the table.

My parents told me the simple story of heroism and vice from the cradle. The Overseer cast out the hero of the vault for being different and that was the end of it. Even when I was old enough for the truth, when the story was a tragedy filled with the bodies of innocents and the heroism became almost coincidental, the Overseer was the villain.

But now, with one parent dead and the other gone, all the responsibility for Arroyo on my head, I sympathize. The Vault Dweller, no matter how heroic, was a destabilizing influence. It could have meant the deaths of everyone. Leadership means seeing problems before anyone else, and making the hard decisions to keep people safe.

I find myself in the same position. No, a worse one. My son is the problem. If our village is to survive, he needs to be sent away, before everything unravels.

Brahmin be praised that we have a crisis. Drought. We should survive, if all goes well, but everyone can see the need is urgent. All we need is a "chosen one" to send forward into the wastes.

He'll be happier out there, I'm sure. I've seen him talking with the merchants talking about this or that his whole life. Eager for heroism, for violence, for glory. Never should have named him for the old warrior-king of the Moose and Elephant.

Eager for something a simple, honest life of farming can't give him. The perils of the wastes and the old world. The demons of technology.

He may abandon the impulse when he sees the cost, may save us all months of suffering with the "GECK".

He may abandon us, and prevent insurrection with no real cost.

Or he may die. Tragic, but better one than many.

I have told the village he is the "Chosen One" and sent him to the temple of trials. I can hope for the best

I always thought it would be interesting to play Fallout 2 as a total nerd. Extremely high intelligence and perception, extremely low strength and agility, middling endurance, and a relatively low charisma (due to general awkwardness and social anxiety).

I'm not saying I'll dislike you if you don't work your way up to the Gauss Rifle and Bozar... I'm saying I WILL HATE YOU AND SPIT at the very MENTION of your name.
Nah, play however you like. It's bound to be entertaining. Or else you DIE.

Geeze, I was just going to threaten to cut myself if Chia was less then marvelously entertaining.
I think you may be taking things a bit too seriously here GF.

I just hope you aren't burning yourself out or anything. I can't imagine how much investment goes into each post, in the form of time, effort, and emotional energy. Still, I can't wait. I look forward to reading it, chiasaur.

I remember getting to the very end where You need to get the tanker to the enclave oil derrick. All well and good, so I am all set! Me and my companions are all wearing power armor varients and so the only obsticle now is to go into a room, flip a switch and ENCLAVE HERE WE COME!

... Its locked. The doors locked. Hey, wheres the key? Not in my inventory, checked the car, checked my companions. Alright, so I lockpick it right? No, doesnt lockpick.

Fuck.

And no, Chiasaur should definetly NOT do a low-int lets play. Three reasons

1. Very hard, most side quests cannot be done AT ALL
2.Would be incredibly hard to stay in character, which leads me to
3. Low-Int plays are a narritive in their own rights. You are usually presented with a maximum of 2 dialog choices. Ever. Even then, most of the time you only get 1. The game is outright trolling you and, while its fun in its own right, its not something that should be attempted for a lets play

But with that said, Let me recall one of my favorite line from it

Location: One of the gang headquarters. You try to go upstairs but a gang member is in your way
Gang Member: What the fuck do you want?
You: wurld peace
GM: I said what the fuck do you want?
you: WURLD PEACE
GM: *unholsters his pistol* You better say something smart or I am going to fill you full of fucking holes
you: ALL ME WANT IS WURLD PEACE BUT NOBODY GIVE IT TO ME
GM: Thats it, Eat lead
You: ME NOT LIKE LEAD taste gross
Combat BEGIN!

Oh, and thoose were the only dialog choices. As you can see, Chiasaur would be best doing a character that isnt like that for anouther GREAT! Lets play

Yeah. an entire low int run isn't something I really want to see...I mean, I've already read the fallout 2 LP from something awful, and it was a low int run.

However, I'm not familiar with the drugs in Fallout 2. Are there any that lower int? Are there multiple that stack? If so, maybe you could have one update like when Milo was drugged out of his mind in the tactics LP.

Yeah. an entire low int run isn't something I really want to see...I mean, I've already read the fallout 2 LP from something awful, and it was a low int run.

However, I'm not familiar with the drugs in Fallout 2. Are there any that lower int? Are there multiple that stack? If so, maybe you could have one update like when Milo was drugged out of his mind in the tactics LP.

Taking Buffout has an aftereffect that lowers INT. Its really the only way I got the conversation above.

Jones. Someone said Jones was a common name for non-tribals. Don't want people thinking I'm a hick.

Hasn't crashed yet. Biometric read positive. Alright, this may be in the clear.

Yes! This piece of shit works! Wow, that a personalized profile? Three excellents, I knew this crappy town was holding me back. They calibrated it on Vault Dwellers and Traders and stuff, I bet. Not tribals, which means being smart on this metric means something.

Okay, lessee, recording information for future generations... right, it started this morning.

Blah Blah Blah sacred, blah blah blah Temple of Trials.

Which apparently is the most lethal place inside the village. I think mom is trying to kill me.

I did my best to talk my way out.

"Yes, well, you see, the real trial was one of blind obedience versus reason. We're not supposed to actually go IN the sacred temple. It's... a thing."

"Uh-huh."

"Look, I know, I was surprised too, but it's key to leadership to..."

"No. Her excellence said to retrieve the artifacts of the Vault Dweller, and her will is not to be questioned."

"I could kick your ass and leave that way. How about that, huh?"

"No. No, you couldn't."

He was, unfortunately, right.

I tried to look on the bright side. I'd talked with traders about it, ones who saw the temple in the old days of the Vault Dweller, when it was open to outsiders. Supposedly, it was a marvel of old world engineering, with tasks to test the mind and the eye.

All I'd seen before was an old pipe rifle I traded a month's worth of healing powder for (confiscated when Mom found out) and a three-quarters broken children's laser gun. (exploded in my hands, then confiscated.)

No such luck. Just room after room filled with giant ants that wanted to kill me. As with most problems in life, running away screaming obscenities worked wonders. They can't beat you up for your lunch if they can't catch you. Running also worked for: Pressure plate dart traps, scorpions, a certainty that Mom wants to kill me.

I did find some explosives.

I am not good at handling explosives.

Soon after, I saw cousin whassisface. The one mom likes better than me. Wait, wait. That's all of them. The stupid one? No, covers the same list.

Cameron! The one who broke that one trader's Highwayman!

Anyway, he said we were going to fight to the death. Yup, it was a murder plot.

Alright, he said something about "learning what it's like to face a man when it will mean your death or his." Or something.

It was pretty much bullshit. If I killed him, I'm sure I'd be exiled at best, so not much gained in the "learn what it's like to kill a man" category. And I knew what wanting to kill me looked like. It was every single wild animal ever.

Also? The people out in the wasteland have guns. It would take a total idiot to try to charge them for Queensbury rules when they can SHOOT YOU.

Stupid shitty tribal village.

I claimed to be a pacifist. This was technically a lie.

Unless shooting people is pacifist now. In which case I will be the best pacifist of all time.

Then I said that accidentally killing the chosen one meant my ghost would haunt him for "Many moons". Apparently, everyone else in this stupid town believes in ghosts.

Eventually, I wore him down and he just... left. Which is when I got this computer, a shirt, and actual pants.

Got this thing working now, so I guess I'm meant to go back. Just hope the ants ignore me.

Whew. Alright, this is the best town in the world. It's the most civilized place I've ever seen. They have it all. Booze! Hookers! Guns!

Admittedly, I could only afford guns and beer, and I had to give the beer to the local drunk for advice, but I have a gun now. Guns are the best thing ever. I'm pretty sure I can kill anything. I'll miss this place while I'm gone.

Right, right. Records. For posterity, since I am THE BIGGEST BADASS EVER.

Most places have a town greeter, a town idiot, and a town drunk. I guess getting all the really nice amenities cost Klamath some of its budget, since one person pulled all three jobs. I was polite, and got good information for my trouble.

Where the bars were (There are two.), who the crazy looking guy with a bone in his nose was (Sulik, he works for one of the bartenders to pay off his bill from a drunken rampage. Tribals.), who had work (Dutton Brothers) and how many doors were unlocked and ripe for looting (A lot.). The only thing he didn't know? Where Vic was. Which was bad, as meeting the old guy was kinda why I went here. On the other hand, it meant he probably wouldn't be going back home any time soon.

...I think I may be getting a bit kleptomaniacal.

Anyway, I found a lot of stuff. Old pipe rifle, something called "Tragic: The Garnering", guns and ammo issue 138 (The one with the laser weapons column. The next issue it spun off into energy weapons today. Mom threw out my copy.). I'd used a pipe rifle before once or twice. They're... alright. I mean, they let you hunt rats, roaches, even Geckos if they're far enough away. But it jams all the time, takes forever to load, a lot of little problems.

Still better than a sharp stick. I felt ready to go look around, try to find something to do.

Good news? I found a "bath house". Bad news, I was broke.

Went to the shops to sell some unnecessary things when I saw it.

The Colt 6520 10mm pistol. The only 10/10 in my entire guns and ammo collection. Easy repair, durable, good accuracy, 12 round automatic, no kick "So even the little lady can use one!".

I'd dreamed about seeing one my entire life. Unfortunately, I didn't have quite enough.

"No, sir. We accept barter. But your pants are not legal tender."

"How about a holy story of the Vault Dweller? Or rat liver. Back home..."

"Just. Put. Your. Pants. On. And. Go."

Obviously, an alternative was called for.

I found some cattle rustlers, and nearly got punched senseless. Admittedly, this was because I brought up they were rustlers instead of bringing the first, core point "I really want money" up first.

It may have not been the most moral decision I have made. But, again, they were selling a COLT 6520.

I took the job.

Used the advance and pretty much everything else I had to buy the gun and a cool leather jacket.

And went to steal Brahmin from a moron.

A scorpion attacked the moron and I. I BLEW ITS HEAD OFF. I mean, just "I'm going to sting you" "Not today, asshole!" BLAM!

Then I told the moron he should probably run away because there might be more bugs or something.

I took the rest of my pay and walked back to town. Whistling.

Alright, I was an asshole. But I was an asshole with a gun. I could do no wrong.

Then I found out my actions had sent a well meaning retard to his possible death. It ended some of the euphoria.

I promised to make things right, while falling over my tongue. I headed out of town, looking for trouble.

There was a robot. Lots of arms, big, metal. I bet it would have inspired some human sacrifice back home.

It would be terrifying.

But I had a gun.

So, I kicked its ass. Have I mentioned I love having a gun? I love having a gun.

I found a few bodies near the site, and tracks leading away. Something crashed, people died, ect, ect. Not my problem. And the armor the guy had was broken, so that meant leaving it be? Best option.

I found Torr hale and healthy, so I lead him back into town. Not a bad day's work.

Figured I'd need someone to carry any trophies around, so I asked if Sulik's contract could go over to me or, failing that, if I would hire him out. He seemed the sort to cart heavy objects around, which I am very ill-qualified for.

She said his debt was clear, he agreed to work for a piece of the action, and Bob's your uncle. Admittedly, the situation could be better. He's a tribal.

I should clarify. I'm a rational, civilized person who happened to be born in a tribal environment. I'm sure there are many in the same position, with primitive superstition preventing them from realizing their potential and moving on to a happy, well rounded life where they own guns because holy shit guns are the best.

Sulik is a tribal. He could spend decades in a place as cosmopolitan as Klamath (The most civilized place I have ever seen) and he'd still be a tribal. Not a bad person, but it makes things awkward. Worse, it reinforces stereotypes, which means I'll be even more likely to be kicked out of nice restaurants.

At any rate, I heard there was a car in old trappertown. I brought Sulik to try and find it.

Just after confirming it existed, I was warned it was surrounded by giant rats, that no-one came back alive, and so on.

I said I'd take care of it.

Scrounged up some ammunition. Went down in the sewer.

Took care of business.

Found an old fuel cell regulator in a busted highwayman. Went back down.

Took care of more business.

Sulik said the biggest rat talked. Superstitious tribal nonsense. It was an animal, like any other, and it got shot. Simple, quick, effective. The basic functions of civilization are there to let us move past such things.

And shoot them.

Found a second gun deeper in, which looks really cool, but then I can't hit anything, so I'm sticking with the Weaver stance. I'm sure some other book will explain how firing two guns at once is supposed to work with diagrams. Otherwise, people would stop doing it in the historical archives.

Found more work. Some I put off.

Some I managed there and then.

Geckos, rats, robots, scorpions. It no longer matters. I am the GOD OF WAR, and the wasteland will tremble before my wrath.

Or, you know, I'll keep a still running. Because, apparently, being a terrifying figure of legend doesn't pay bills, irritates the neighbors, and means shops charge you more. I like it here.

It must be the most advanced city since the Great Destruction. Sorry to see it go.

But Vic might be in trouble in The Den, so I'm going there. The man sold me a pipe rifle years back. Not much of a gun, but without it I might have believed what Mom told me about hunting with your heart and nature and balance and crap.

Me: Hey this is alot like the previous installment which happens to be one of my favorite games!
Fallout 2: Isn't it?! But first we wanna show off these sweet ants, and some scorpions. Kill them with this spear we gave you.
Me: Whew! That took a long time Fallout 2, now give me a gun and lets get some action!
Fallout 2: Wait wait wait, how about we give you an air-rifle instead? And oh man, instead of action, how about GECKOS?! Do you want more goddamn GECKOS?! Fight some more GECKOS. Hey I want to skin GECKOS my friends been kidnapped by GECKOS go kill GECKOS

Guns are great, no mistake. But it turns out I have... limits. I know, it was a shock to me too. I guess "Fucked up" might be a fair term.

I may have a few blood debts against me now. Or a lot.

Start where I started.

The Den. Sulik said he felt "Bad mojo" in this place. Superstitious claptrap. Still, it had... problems. I noticed a string of pickpocketing incidents and similar, not my ideal social structure.

Alright, the term shithole may apply. If this was the face of the outside world, maybe, just maybe, Mom had a point. As much as I may hate Tribal life, it didn't have Jet addicts, whatever that is.

Yeah, that was a fun conversation. So much for finding Vault 13.

Which is too bad. It apparently was overly reliant on technology, out of touch with the insights of the ancestors, and apparently stocked with miniguns. My kind of village, if recent events are an indicator. Sure, back in the old days, you couldn't leave, but Arroyo has similar rules. Go down easier if there were guns and this "indoor plumbing" thing.

Seriously, the poop... vanishes. As if it had never been.

Right, junkies, then errands.

Met a nice middle aged woman who had me bring a customer some food. Nice, honest work when asking around for Vic. He'd been like an uncle growing up, I owed him, all that. Emphasis on past tense.

Oh! And the gangs, those were great. I'm just lucky they were stupid.

So. Incredibly. Stupid.

"Why are you here? You have five seconds before I ventilate your face."

"I also have a gun?"

"Four."

"Your boss sent me."

"Metzger?"

"Who else? He said he needed... an inspection. Of the supplies."

"Sorry. Thought you were with Lara's idiots."

"Don't worry. She won't hear a word."

(Spoilers. She heard a word. And then more words. Things got messy.)

It was just chemicals, brahmin dung, and fungi. Not my areas of expertise, but I looked and nodded gravely for the cover story, and then walked away. Very quickly.

Delivered the food, found out there was a Highwayman for sale, cheap, if I can get the parts (If I can ever come back, that's on the priority list. )

I walked out, happy as a clam. Which is when things started going downhill.

Attacked out of nowhere by a vagrant. I drew on reflex, push comes to shove, mess all over the ground, etc. So, now I have a dead body on my conscience, which is great fun. I duck in a building to hide and hope no-one saw me.

And I find myself surrounded by armored individuals who could do me harm, presumably engaged in criminal activity. You know, the sort of people mom insisted ran the wasteland. Sulik was there too, and I didn't want to risk anything at that moment, given, well, the previous incident.

I answered every question they asked quickly.

"You hiding in here?"

"Yes!"

"You looking for work?"

"Probably! If that means you'll let me go quietly, then yes!"

"Know what Tyler's guarding?"

"Yes! Chemicals!"

"Figures. Name's Lara. We... work security around here, only it fell through. You just got us a step closer to getting the old job back. Thanks."

"Pleasure is all mine. Really. So, uh..."

I admit, the next thing wasn't exactly witty, but, in my defense, I just killed a man for the first time. It left me off my normally considerable game.

"So, uh, heard of a guy named Vic?"

"Metzger has him. Since you're going to be there anyway, ask him about the handover."

It went well, I suppose. Got the information I needed, a little money, and the only cost was tossing myself in the middle of a gang war. I make mistakes sometimes, I admit. At least I got a Guns and Ammo on the way out. It had a review of the classic desert eagle, something called the CAR stance, and a foldout. Well, two foldouts. One for the German Gauss Rifle, one for, well, ahem.

I can't believe it was out in the open. Normally, great art is locked up.

Went to see Vic, and ran into some trouble. Apparently, he had some difficulties with slavers, and would need help. I stepped forward when they gave the information and I got the okay for Lara's little rumble.

"You're letting him go."

"Why on Earth would we want to do that?"

"Because..."

And I moved my hand for my Colt. A little lesson for them.

Then Sulik nudged me.

"We and I be thinkin' you shouldn't be cruisin' for trouble."

"But I have a gun, Sulik."

"Grampy bone knows that. Grampy bone also knows they have guns."

"Shit."

They should have better regulations on these things.

...okay, I got my gun so I could rustle cattle after trying to sell my pants for it. Also, my prior training was a couple magazines and a pipe rifle for a few weeks nearly a decade ago. I am not well placed to call for background checks.

"I AM JUST REACHING FOR MONEY. I WOULD LIKE TO BUY VIC, THE SLAVE, FOR MONEY! LEGITIMATE CUSTOMER!"

"Fine. Whatever. 1K, cash."

"Do you take dead rats?"

"No. We fucking don't."

"I'll be back, then."

Well, there was only one solution. Buying a scarier gun, then threatening everyone until I got Vic out.

Found a Desert Eagle, just like in the magazines. Blows someone's head clean off. Shotguns, .44 magnums, hunting rifles... Basically every gun I have ever wanted.

For more money than I have ever seen.

Just paying Vic's debt off would be quicker and safer. Even considering the local work.